The Iron Arrow- (Legolas's Destiny)
by Sherlockium
Summary: Even the great elf prince of Mirkwood is not immune to cupid's bow and arrow... Legolas tries in vain to deny his growing attractions towards the half-breed girl he encounters whilst in the forest one night. Time is against him as he watches his newfound love die at the hands of a mysterious sickness. Can his throne, this quest, and the One Ring dare tempt him from her side?
1. Prologue- Mirkwood's Calling

_**(Apologize for any inaccuracies, have not read the books in years and am relying on solely memory and mostly Peter Jackson)**_

**Prologue-**

When I first entered Mirkwood, I was met with nothing. It wasn't the dull, senseless nothing of autumn, nor the lazy, perspiring nothing of spring. Something felt off today. Something felt _different._ The trees around me hummed with life and the forest floor was overwrought with a canopy of bumblebees and chrysanthemums. I took a sprig of a rare herb between my fingers, savoring the dew as it flowed between my fingers. A prince might be a prince, but even elves needed a break. Gimli had been like a vicious harpy all day, trotting about whenever I went anywhere and requesting that I stop with this foolishness. Silly dwarf, he could not hope to understand. My home was the forest, and no matter how often I dreamt of Mirkwood, I could not rid it entirely of my memory. I remembered Bilbo Baggins, the hobbit who led that band of merry dwarves through these same wood just moments ago. The life of an elf was long, that was for certain. While their hearts beat to the rhythm of a butterfly, we elves lived on and on, growing with the trees as we grew into our beings. And now, Frodo, dear Frodo. I had requested we take a woodland path upon the start of our voyages to Mordor. I am unsure as to whether the hobbit was particularly upset at the interruption or not, his eyes seemed so glazed over now. He seemed, to me, to act like a cow, a stupid animal waiting for slaughter with that ring around his neck.

I sighed, releasing the sprig and watching it drift, gently, to the forest floor. No, this forest was no Mirkwood, no matter how desperately I imagined it to be. While I sat on a patch of rock and moss, I heard the sound of a break in the trees behind me. Unthinkingly drawing my bow, I aimed at the vague direction where I'd heard the sound. I was surprised to find two eyes blinking warily into my own. "Come out," I whispered sternly, certain that this was no ordinary creature to have gotten so close to me without my knowing, "Or you'll have an arrow located somewhere in your sternum."

"Oh, peace sir!" I was startled to see a female human with a halo of dark, brownish hair around her head stand up and show herself to me. She emerged from the shadows with a whisper of the wind, and when I first saw her, I was astounded by how... _elf-like _she looked. But she couldn't be a Halfling, now could she? Halflings didn't tend to live long around these parts without the guidance of an adoptive parent elf. But yet, here she was! The living proof that a Halfling could survive on her own without going mad.

Still uncertain of this visitor, I wondered aloud, "Peace nothing fore you tell me your name, woman."

The woman looked back, defiant and yet, keen at the same time. Her eyes were cold and calculating, no doubt, planning something silly and humanly of her- like her escape, for instance. I clicked my tongue at her, aiming the arrow directly at her heart, "_Now."_

She tossed her head like a priggish stallion, and sauntering up to me, she walked so close that the arrow dug straight into her soft flesh if not hard enough to bleed. I lowered the bow in awe of how stupid Halflings could be, and all the uncivilized half-breed could mutter was, "I'm a healer." She turned the arrow away, grinning widely at my disdain, "And I've come to join your party."

I gawped in disbelief. Uncertain that my always flawless hearing had not been so flawless for once. "I beg your pardon?"

She laughed, a pleasant bell-like laugh that reminded me of a forest brook, "Oh, you are funny, little prince."

I flushed red, a furious blush of embarrassment which became even worse as she stepped closer, taking the bow and arrow teasingly from my hands. "Woman..." I growled, "Do not mess with a forest elf's bow."

She stuck her tongue out at me, a pert red tongue that slipped out between two pale lips, set like little crescent moons against her face, "Do not think yourself high and mighty, little elf lordling. And besides, I don't see any women joining your little quest. The nights must get awfully lonely..." She winked at me, the cheeky gesture bringing me to my ruin, "Unless, of course, you forest men tend to huddle together for warmth."

I snatched the bow from her, taking her tattered shawl with it, "I think not, you foraging vixen! If you think to make some profit off of us, I'll have you know that my travelling companions are honorable men who would not think of hiring a woman of _ill repute _such as yourself till Middle Earth stands no longer."

She pouted, the whites of her eyes glowing against the dark set of her face, "Oh, I was just having a little fun, lordling." She curtsied low to the ground, the action bringing her clothes taut against her well-endowed body, "Forgive me, milord."

I bit my cheek to keep from rifling my too-thin fingers through her luscious, black hair. He body was so distracting that it was hard to keep my attention on her face. "All is forgiven." She laughed again, and just like that, she set my blood to boiling in passion, a passion I had not yet discerned as either anger or lust.

_Why yes, all is forgiven... _My eyes wandered upwards towards the canopy above us, the old oaks so great and mighty that they blotted out the sun, _Imagine that, a Halfling to be an elf prince's ruin. No... I cannot touch her._

I closed my eyes, slinging my bow casually over my shoulder as I made my way towards camp, vainly trying to ignore the sound of her little footsteps coming from behind me, _My throne depends on it._

When I let the silence linger, the girl's voice came from behind me, a beacon to the storm raging within my mind as I clung onto it for dear life, "Myra..." She whispered, the sound carrying over like sweet music to my ears, "My name is Myra."

I replied with silence.

_May silence be my adversary in the fight against this tempestuous half-breed._

"Myra," I cocked my head, smiling as I heard the sounds of my companions laughing and chattering idly as they enjoyed their supper, the hobbits with less enthusiasm than the rest. From what I could tell, they had set up camp just behind this cliff hanging which led to the sea, the perfect place to defend ourselves from an onslaught of Orcs. "My dear Myra, are you ready to meet the Fellowship?"

**Author's Note-**

_I'm unsure as to whether I actually want to write this to the point of a full-length series yet. Show your support by reviewing and I might continue. If not, this will most likely be the first and last chapter I write of this. Rated M for possible later romance chapters. Thanks for everything. Ciao!_

_-Your local Lady, Sherlockium_


	2. Chapter 1- The Mortal Sickness

**Author's Note-**

_Yes, hello all! I decided I'm continuing the story whether others want me too or not! I'm enjoying myself far too much to stop now. So, in honor of the genius of Tolkien and Peter Jackson's adapted universe, here we are... Be patient if you're only here for certain "scenes", romance takes time to blossom, after all. Reviews, as always, are just as welcome as followers and their categorized ilk. I'd appreciate a little support from time to time to let me know you care. :)_

_May the stars shine upon you!_

_Signed, Sherlockium._

**_Nightfall_**

The other members of the Fellowship had taken to slumber by the time Myra and I had reached their camp site. The hobbits were curled up nearest to the cliff side while Aragorn and Gimli stood guard around them. They had formed a sort of lazy semi-circle, the heaviest of the guard centered around Frodo and the Ring. Boromir looked less comfortable in his position as first watch tonight; his back against the tree and his shoulders heavy with the burden of a pack on his shoulders. They had probably made him watchman tonight after witnessing his increasing hysteria whilst in the presence of the golden band round Frodo's neck. I told Myra to stand back for a while I coaxed Boromir to allow me the first watch instead. All courage within me had vanished when I considered the very real possibility of my companions actually meeting the half-breed healer girl. I did not know how the others, besides the faithful Aragorn and wise Gandalf, would take to meeting another woman on this quest after so long. The Ring had affected us all in ways that I could not care to admit. Not wishing to take any chances, I waited until I heard heavy breathing from Boromir and saw his eyes fall closed in a deep, unwaking sleep, sprawled out far from any of the others and even farther from us. I beckoned Myra to me with an impatient wave of the hand, and she walked towards me, as nimble as any elf-woman I had seen. Her eyes were wide and her lips parted in a delicate expression of innocence. I grinned, unused to having seen that look of naiveté on an elfin face since all elves were all at least a few centuries old by the time I had encountered them. Her next words dropped like lead in the night air between us.

"Why do you hide me from them?" Her words sounded so hurt and infantile, causing a sort of stirring of sympathy within me, "Are you ashamed of me?"

I scoffed, placing my arms across my chest as I leaned against the birch tree nearby, watching her with my eyes never leaving her crookedly beautiful features, "I should not feel shamed by any of my kin, half-breed or no."

She bowed her head, the night wind pulling her hair away from her face enough that I could see the scar there. I frowned, tracing the wound with the tip of my thumb. "_Rhaich!" _I cursed, my gaze stunned by the presence of a scar where all wounds should heal, "How long has it been since you received this?"

She flushed, looking uncomfortable again. I grabbed her by the shoulders, releasing her within moments as I sheepishly realized that I had allowed my passions to get the better of me, "Myra... That scar should not be there."

She cocked her head, "And why not?"

I pulled her hair back over the unsightly thing, my fingers still burning from when my skin had touched hers, "It is against the nature of our peoples for a wound to take so long to heal. Do you have no mother or father of elvish blood to tell you that?"

"I am a half-breed," She whispered numbly, "My father cast me from his home when I grew old enough to fare well on my own. He insisted he wanted nothing to do with half-breeds after my mother died." There was silence as I saw the raw, pained emotion flooding her features with shadow. During the silence, I finally opened my mouth to comfort her in some way.

_I am sorry, beloved lady. _"_Goheno nin, hiril vuin," _I began to translate the phrase in the common tongue when she startled me by replying.

"_Ná, hîr vuin." _She grinned as I stared at her with bemusement in my eyes, "I can speak some Elvish, if you must know."

I smirked, leaning my head back against the tree as I slid gracefully down to the grass below. "I apologize that I could not bring you to camp today. I feared the worst when the Ring was present in this quest. I feared that the others would not take so kindly to you."

Myra nodded, sitting next to me, so near that her thinly clothed leg was touching mine, "So it is. Gandalf had told me everything before I told him that I wanted to join him." She lowered her head, the human blood within her causing her to feel weary, "He told me of a quest that would change the future of Middle Earth for the better... or the worse. I love Gandalf like the dearest of uncles. He raised me when he found me orphaned outside my father's home. I told him that I would follow him everywhere, but he didn't believe me. He left me with no explanation save that he was going out for a walk. When he didn't return, I tracked him here to this campsite, certain that he was going to go on this quest without me."

I smiled as I felt her head fall onto my shoulder, her lips parted as she began to snore peacefully, "A shame he almost left you," I waited till I felt the rhythm of her heartbeat go completely steady, and then I chose to press my hand over her shoulder, my fingers splayed just north of the shadowed area of no return. I chose not to think of Myra as a woman. I tried, so hard, to imagine her to be a sister, but she was already changing me. In so short a time, she was playing with my emotions. I felt _fear _for her, an emotion elves were not wont to have. Yet, my thoughts kept straying back to her predicament. Her wound should have healed within a fortnight, half-breed or no. I had not heard of tales where Elves took sick or ill. Elves were built to die only in battle, but she was showing more signs of humanity than she was of elf blood. Could it be that she had taken sick?

No, it was not my problem. All I must focus on is this quest, and my throne back in Mirkwood.

Nights were long and arduous when one had nothing to do but sit still and be idle. I had no need for sleep nor food nor drink for so long as I lived. Food was only a pleasure for me... just as other things were pleasure for me. Yet, I had my destiny writ for me in the stars. I noticed how the forest became so cold when the night fell upon it, how the stars seemed to give the whole scene a frigid air. My breath came out in little spheres as Myra huddled groggily closer to me, her little palm accidentally fallen on my thigh. I ignored her with all my willpower, choosing instead to stare up at the stars and recite a poem from my memory, one I had remembered while feasting in the halls of my father so long ago.

_"The wind's in the tree-top, the wind's in the heather;_

_The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower,_

_And bright are the windows of Night in her tower..."_

I ran my voice ragged till the coming of the dawn, and my heart beat furiously within me as I felt the first stirrings of an emotion I had kept withdrawn since the cradle. Cursing my impulsiveness, I placed my hand on Myra's face as she blinked drowsily up at me. Seeming to understand something I did not, she pulled a lock of my hair within a fist, pulling my lips to come crashing down on hers. Like a forest spirit, she had me enchanted. I nibbled experimentally on her lower lip, enjoying the little shriek she made of approval. Too soon the kiss ended, for before us stood Gandalf, grinning from ear to ear as he saw the pair of us, huddled like children in the heather.

"Why good morning!" He greeted us cheerily enough, "I've already told the others about Lady Myra joining us on this quest. Now get up and hurry on now. We're on a schedule in case you haven't noticed!"

Stunned, we sat there like a pair of schoolchildren, my arms around her neck and the feeling of her lips still flush on my skin. We did not get up for quite some time, but still, I remembered how wrong this all was. I could never... not with a ... a half-breed.

_"Rhaich..."_


	3. Chapter 2- Every Path a Tributary

**In the Early Morning, **

**Sometime Before the Second Breakfast of the Hobbits**

In the halls of my fathers, I lived as a prince. I lusted after certain elves... I remembered, briefly, of chance encounters in those same, marble halls. Whether with elvish men or women, it didn't really matter. When one lives to be immortal, age is but a number, and gender is considered even lesser than age. But Aragorn and Boromir lived in a different world. They reigned over a world of men, little more than prey to the society to which they were confined. I liked to think that being an elf meant something. It showed that we were born to be something greater than warriors. I liked to entertain the thought that elves were built to become the stars. I feared the gray curtain once, when I was younger. In my youth, I had thought that Death was a gateway to a world of oblivion. But then, I grew older. And with age came wisdom. With this wisdom, I saw starlight. I felt the cold fingers of the night lessen in its hold upon my throat. I felt the small, blue bird of hope perch within the depths of my mortality. Yes... I may have been born an immortal, but one sword blow would cause my end as quickly as it would any other mortal. Should the blade run deep and true enough, my heart would stop just so.

"Legolas!" The ranger strode over the hill leading to the forest valley in which I lay, inert, upon the grass. He came so close to me that he could reach out and touch me on the shoulder, "_Man cerig?" What are you doing?_

I shook my head mightily, as though awaking from the deepest of slumbers, "_Goheno nin, a lelyalmë..." Sorry, let's go._

I meant to move out of Aragorn's path when the man stopped me by putting his hand entirely upon my chest. Almost instinctively, my fingers itched for my bow. I had to spend a good amount of time unclenching my jaw as I exhaled in order to calm myself, "Brother," I replied, switching patiently to the common tongue, "I'd advise you not to touch me for I nearly killed you then."

Aragorn smirked, the lighthearted gesture proving to be a stark contrast against his darkened, stubble-ridden features, "My friend!" He backed away slowly, nodding to the dagger concealed below his fingers with a playful smile, "I would have stabbed you before you could!"

I shook my head, "_Rhaich..." _I muttered, "I'm getting slow."

Aragorn's smile was lost then as he dropped the meaningless banter, "_Peditham hi sui vellyn?" May we speak as friends now?_

_"Náto." It is so..._

He licked his lips, his fingers reaching for his sword as he attempted to drop his air of discomfort. His dark eyes flicked momentarily to the west, and I followed his gaze with some discretion. He was gazing off at Myra, her silken hair tied up for the trials of the day. She had changed into one of Gandalf's spare robes, the cloth cinched tightly to her petite waist in a manner that made her look more like a dwarf than Gimli. I smiled at the image of Gimli wearing a dress, and was quite preoccupied with this before remembering that the subject of Aragorn's discontent was Myra. I frowned then, all traces of banter had disappeared.

I narrowed my eyes at my brother in arms, wondering what the human warrior meant to say. I had been told in years past that I had been very good at guessing what others meant to say to me, but I had taught Aragorn how to avoid this trick well. He gave no signal as to what he was trying to say this morning. I bit the inside of my cheek and then quickly stopped fidgeting again. It was certainly unlike me to act nervous about anyone or anything. _Rhaich... I would rather face a whole horde of Orcs rather than sit here and talk about this situation._

"Gandalf advised me to give advice only in the realm of Men," The warrior looked troubled as he said this. We all had much to be troubled about these days, in the times of the Ring, "He told me that a single elf knew more in a nanosecond of his life than I would in a lifetime of mine." He unsheathed his sword then, and took a clod of dirt from the ground below and began to wipe off some old blood from the blade, "Trouble is that I wasn't much good for listening, Legolas. I'm not much good at that at all."

He finished quickly and put his sword back in its proper place, now pretending to pick out a splinter from his skin, "The time of choosing is upon us, Legolas." We both looked at Myra then. She was chasing a butterfly and laughing as Gandalf trapped it by folding his hat over its wings. The pair began to study the Monarch with a ferocious scrutiny when Myra caught my eye. I turned away, my skin growing hot as my mind began to imagine Myra as a serving girl in the halls of my fathers. If she knew how she was affecting me and my throne, would she act differently? "As a half-breed, she must choose to which race she belongs to, Legolas. She must choose whether she will be my queen, or _yours..."_

My gaze shot up to his then, and all thoughts of my disturbed fantasies dissipated at the statement, "I beg pardon? _My _queen?"

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully, nibbling at his pale, lower lip, "Aye, or mine."

"I don't understand..." I stared at the ground, imagining the fragile grass beneath me bursting into flames, "By the rules of ancient law, half-breeds get the choice of becoming either a human or an elf. She can choose between mortality or immortality, but no one said _anything _about her becoming queen!"

"By the rules of ancient law," Aragorn clarified, staring hard into my own eyes, "She will become as queenly as any blue-blooded royal out there should she happen to marry a _king."_

I looked carefully at the blade that lay between us, wondering how swift my dear brother might be should I try and shoot him. He might have been a decent swordsman, but one arrow to the heart ought to do it... No, what was I thinking? Aragorn taking Myra as his queen would be a good thing. After all, a half-breed turned queen had no business ruling beside me. I had to honor my lord and my kingdom. I could not even comprehend marrying a woman of so low a status.

"What about the Lady Arwen?" I challenged Aragorn by standing my ground and addressing the matter head-on, "Should you abandon the woman you love as soon as a better offer comes around?"

The dark-haired human braced himself against my words, his voice strained as he hissed, "Myra gets closer to Gandalf every day that passes. It is rumored amongst the Fellowship that he will give _her _the Ring to take to Mordor should Frodo one day crack beneath its weight." He slowed his tongue as he realized the bitterness that spewed forth from it, "And with that Ring, she and I should rule all of Middle Earth and I would divorce her quietly and marry her off to my brother. At which point, _Arwen _and I should be more powerful than even Sauron himself."

_"Nai... So it comes to this. You are without heart... My lord, you hath betrayed me. _

I whispered this with an air of disgust in my tone. I had realized that the Ring affected us all, but for its power to have gotten to Aragorn's head... Sauron must be so powerful after all.

"My brother you are sick," I saw the swollen redness in Aragorn's eyes and dismissed his threat as the ramblings of a madman, "You will ride in the back with the hobbits this evening. You are unfit for the struggles of a worser travel. I shall guard Myra in the front today and for the rest of the journey till nightfall. Speak to me again when the walk hath yet cleared your head."

I watched Aragorn go with sadness deep within my heart. He threw the weight of his shoulder into mine, hard enough so that the gesture stung though it did not wound me. I would have to speak to Gandalf of the warrior's transgressions.

I looked off at Myra then, coughing into her hand and having her soft skin come away damp with her own blood. Oh, if only I could take her illness from her and into my own body. She must be cursed, yes, that must be it. Only the greatest of dark magic could have cursed her, a woman of elven blood, to remain so ill without healing. It was possible that Sauron, the Necromancer's, magic could have reached so far as to touch my Myra and cause her injury. If dark magic was a possibility, then that meant Myra was dying even as we prepared for the arduous journey ahead of us.

I whispered to soothe her, even as we stood so far apart and yonder. "_Nin gwerianneg," Do not be afraid..._

_:Nin gwerianneg...Melda tári."_

_Do not be afraid... My Queen._

**An Hour into the Journey**

_I breathed harshly into Myra's ear, reaching out for her still form as the outer world died away in the heat of battle. I saw her go down and cover her head when the first volley of arrows fell. I saw the Hobbits form a sort of protective circle around her as we heard the growls of the miserable beasts out in the distance._

_I saw the Red Moon rise high in the sky above us._

_I smelled the scent of rot in the air, and curling my lip in distaste, I drew my bow._

_"Nedin dagor hen ú-'erir ortheri. Natha daged dhaer."_

_They cannot win this fight. They are all going to die._

_Aragorn stood by me then, and our eyes met in one moment of brief clarity as the dark-haired man shouted out in warning for Gimli to draw his axe and Boromir, his sword._

_"The Orcs!" The human cried, "The Orcs are coming!"_

**Author's Note**

**Thank you for all who have reviewed thus far, and hopes for many more. For those who have been reading from the start, I thank you from every inch of being there be in my person. I am writing this late at night, so I apologize for any typos that you may find. If you can do anything, ANYTHING at all to support this little story, it would be greatly appreciated. I realize that there wasn't anything romance-related in this little chapter, but do not fear! There is always more to come in the way of things. It is rumored that blood red moons are viewed as awfully romantic these days...**

**May the stars shine upon you on this Merry, Merry Christmas! (And a Happy New Year amongst many other equally amazing Holidays!)**

**-Signed your Lady,**

**Sherlockium **


	4. Chapter 3- Tauriel

_Alright diehard Lord of the Rings Fans, sorry I had to stick some Hobbit references in there BUT I got so excited after involving myself in the Hobbit hype that I just couldn't help myself. Besides, whatever you say against the movie, and no matter how great the book is (amazingly so) you have to admit that it feels good to have a story so appreciated that it's taken to the movie level. And besides, Peter Jackson does add some different character levels to Legolas in his newest movie._

_Alright, all the best! (Help out if you can as always!)_

_Lady Sherlockium_

**An Elf's Wounds Heal Quickly, His Heart Only Heals after an Eternity...**

I lie in the dust and the blood of my companions and here I wonder...

What went wrong?

By the halls of my fathers, what went wrong? But... no... not all was right in Mirkwood, was it? I remember, distantly, my old captain of the guard. The hurt I felt, that odd emotion, stirring within me with a seed of jealousy and hate. Yes... she ended up loving a young dwarf that was almost three times too young for her. Dwarves... the fragile creatures which died so easily. Here now stands his great, great kinsmen, fighting alongside me and not even remembering the name of the one my Tauriel loved.

_Kili._

But enough about Kili, why do I wallow so? I am dying, here in battle, knocked out by an arrow to my shoulder. Oh, how weak am I to be to allow an arrow to hurt me so? It missed my heart... by a mere finger's width, but still. My own failings in battle should serve as no excuse.

I open my eyes, and I see Tauriel. She looks stunning, bathed in moonlight with her red hair flowing freely past her shoulders. "Tauriel?" I whisper, struggling to stand, "Tauriel?"

She laughs, speaking in an odd mixture of Elvish and the common tongue, "_Get up...Meleth e-gûr nîn. There be no red moon on this day."_

I reach for her, but her hair slips through my fingers.

When I open my eyes, I am buried beneath the body of a dead Orc. I open my eyes wide, ripping the arrow out of my shoulder and biting my lip to staunch the pain. I had withheld many wounds before this one, just as I shall withstand this one on this day. I turn around just in time to see Boromir cutting down hundreds of Orcs by a single blow. He is fearless in battle...

He turns around and I see the arrows glistening, blood-red and protruding from his chest.

He is dying...

I reach for my bow and aim to put the Orc in front of him down, but Boromir blocks my shot.

And then, he falls.

I scream in silence, abandoning all my senses as I fall, once more to the ground. I feel odd... this emotion within me...it feels like... like...

I am in Mirkwood again.

It feels like Tauriel ripping my heart into two.


End file.
